The radio is such a worthless little piece of trash when you compare it to the sight unfolding from the downtown area just 4 horribly long days ago. corpses coming to live, people desperatly fighting to survive or stop the mess. Nothing ever works out. Luck alone has saved a group of some 12 people, hiding in a currently abandoned military runway that served as a fair event.Oh the fine mess that was.Three pilots had been bitten on the runway and turned to drooling zombies mid-flight half way through their show, resulting in total chaos as they fell out of formation almost as if on que from a higher, demented, power of the universe. 8 planes crashed, nearly 40 people killed in the resulting infernos of impact. How any of the current 12 got it into a hanger before the sound drew the horde from the city is no mystery.

A young sargent of 33 brought the desperate people here, of course, and wisely chose the correct hanger. Though it was stuffed with junk food like chips and chocolate, it also had a small weapons cache in the side-room office. Whoever owned them didn't need them now, even though he sat in his chair throughout the whole spectacle.With a shard of scrap metal launched through his eye.

What little news that got through was pitiful; Zombies walk the streets, dead rising to assault the living, army useless, military in chaos, president in hiding, gangs taking territory amidst it all.Oh the fun!

Sargent Meera Waltz sat in the far corner with head in hands trying to think of a plan, of a coruse of action, to prevent these last remaining people from becoming food to each other or the things banging on the walls relentlessly. Two people had started a fight over something very stupid and decided now was a perfect time to settle the score with a clear winner. A gunshot to the head killed the bigger man, the smaller victor barely had time to smile like the maniac he was before a bullet blew his head out the front. Meera Waltz would not trust anyone willing to raise a gun over a petty feud.

"What are we going to do..." She whispered softly to herself, listening intently to the the sound of a motor humming and the zombies moaning, the scratching of their hands on the walls and windows and... Motor humming? A small bullethole was in the hangar door from the earlier incident and now served as a spy hole. A car! No, a truck. A big one.. With only 1 person? Crazy fool..

Wait a minute... What is he..!A yelp escaped her lips as she flung away from the wall, the truck slamming right into hangar at full force. The truck barely felt anything.

There hadn't been many zombies, but now they were attracted more than ever to the loud crash. 4 people were dead now, dropping the number to 6 people. Including Meera...

The man in the truck threw open the door and threw 3 pilfered sub-machine guns into the area of the nearest survivors, screaming for them to be ready. "I am prophet but there is no time! You must all leave this place, please, do not ask me why!" Prophet yelled, bringing his own two pistols to bear against the zombies rushing through the breech, each shot found a head in the crowd of 50 or so abominations. "Into the van, quickly! Kill if you can, but we must leave!"

What the fuck is this all about! There was no time to ponder. "You heard him!" Meera shouted through the dim, taking out her pistol and making a sprint for the truck.

(Real simple, Wanna get this moving with a little action before the whole 'talking and discussion' part begins. Kill zombies, get to truck, truck will pull away with 'prophet' leading the way. Once on the road, you will be given 3 choices to discuss! Good times.)

"What the fuck's the matter with you?!", yelled the police sergeant. A useless question as he and the others needed to act fast. Three submachine guns, and three of them had no firearms, so he motioned for them to grab the guns. "These are HK MP5s! Thirty round magazines, with full-auto, burst and semi-auto fire modes!" He tried to explain as best he could, periodically shooting his Beretta in between. "Set them to semi-auto, because unless you've used one before, you can't handle the other two! It's on the left side next to the trigger, the picture of one bullet!"

All of this talking was getting too distracting for him, and he was almost out of his first clip, so he figured why not give the corpses a distraction? Reaching into his backpack, he pulled out a kitchen egg timer, setting it for twenty seconds. He then threw it as far as he could in the opposite direction of the truck. "In about fifteen seconds we'll get a distraction! As soon as it happens, cease fire and run for the truck!"

Two less mouths to feed at the cost of two bullets, the math was perfectly sound as far as he was concerned. The man quietly sat by while the two were bickering over something nonsensical, he knew it would have only been a matter of time before the one would snap. He had seen how quick to temper the person was before and in such a high stress situation he was bound to finally do something stupid. Giving guns to civilians, people who were complete strangers was such a horrible idea it baffled Miles to the point of giving him a headache. Certainly this wasn’t a normal situation but how could the others have not seen something like this coming? Miles simply stood back and allowed the events to unfold, he didn’t even flinch when both of the men were gunned down mere moments apart from each other.

Later on something did happen that made Miles a bit uneasy, a man came crashing through the hanger without much warning. The sudden crash caused Miles to jump, his eyes went wide and his face paled slightly as their defenses crumbled in front of his eyes. He looked over at the driver as he tossed forward a few weapons, one of which landed right in front of Miles. ‘Prophet? Handing out weapons to strangers? Destroying their only defense? Clearly this man is insane… however it seems as if he has his reasons for doing this, otherwise the weapons wouldn’t have been distributed as such…’ for a brief moment Miles took in the details of their situation, it was obvious that the only clear choice was to escape in the van.

Miles knelt down and picked up the weapon and the rest of his gear rather casually, glancing over at Bryan as he began to bark out instructions on how to work the gun. Useful information, however Miles didn’t like the fact that Bryan was attempting to assume control like that. From what he had seen of the man he was the last person in the group that he trusted, which was then demonstrated as the man tossed out his egg timer into the approaching horde. ‘If you see dinner right in front of you, a little egg timer isn’t going to distract you… not to mention the sound of the van's engine’ the man thought to himself, however it did interest Miles if the zombies would react in the way that he had expected. Miles switched the gun over to semi-automatic as per Bryan’s instructions, however he did not begin firing the gun. The man jogged over to the van, he was only going to start shooting if anything got a little too close for comfort.

Like Miles, Bea had been quiet...She'd looked away at the shootings, reaching up to clasp the shiny dog-tag-shaped pendant she wore as brains splattered the wall of the hangar. She couldn't watch the deaths, but she didn't speak out against them, either.

She worried at the inside of her cheek, rubbing her thumb over the now-warm metal of the pendant that proclaimed her brother a marine. Was he alright? Surely he was doing his duty and fighting these things. Because he couldn't have fallen. Not Brandon. Not because he was elite, but...because she had to believe he was alright. Alive and fighting. He wouldn't try to get to her...He'd follow his orders and make war upon the infestation, she was sure...So she had to find him. And the only way to do that was to survive. Getting mouthy now probably wasn't the best way to do that.

And then the latch on Hell snapped, as the truck slammed into the hangar door, busting it open with a deafening crash and screech. Well, fuck that wouldn't attract the bad things, now would it?

She took the gun the soldier offered her, taking a moment to turn it over in her hands with a soft frown. It wasn't that she'd never fired a gun before...Her brother had taken her to the range many times. But this wasn't an M16. She was used to a combat rifle, not a submachine gun. This thing didn't seem like something you could even take the time to aim with. Then again, this wasn't really a situation to be taking the time to aim.

She followed closely after Miles, her lips set into a serious line, of much the same mind as him. After all, she only had thirty bullets, and those would go fast on semi-auto...

It was difficult to tell how much time had passed, the coming and going of the sun dictated that only four days had passed, but it felt like months to Andrea. She never did cope well with violence, the most she ever experienced being semi-friendly brawls in the bar in the village she lived close to. And those always ended with the two, or more, participants slapping each on the shoulder and having a good laugh.

It had been her father who insisted that she brought a weapon on her travels, an ugly black piece of metal that always felt heavier than it looked. "It is a wicked world out there, filled with wicked men, doing wicked things." Is what he would muse. Andrea never even considered the possibility of ever having to use it, condemning the piece to the bottom of her suitcase, safely stowed away in the protective case. Yet here it was, tucked behind the waistband of her pants, pressing against her skin as a constant reminder that there would come a time where she had to use it.

It was foolish to think that this place was going to last, she'd always knew that one day they'd have to move away. Either because they found a way in, or their supplies ran dry. But for the time being, this was a safe haven. Or so she thought. You'd think people would stop fighting each other, knowing that the very next minute you might need that person to help defend your home. It was why Andrea firmly closed her eyes and covered her ears as the two men started fighting. She wanted to stop them, to remind them of what was at stake here. But she just couldn't, the other man had a weapon and was waving it around so carelessly. Was it just hers that felt so heavy?

Then came the deafening bang that even her hands couldn't stop, followed by the bright flesh and the strangely pleasant smell of gunpowder. She didn't dare open her eyes, fearing what she might see. Death and blood were one thing in action movies, it was something completely different in real life. It had never really occurred to her just how fake blood on TV looked, until she saw a man bleed out because the support from the bleachers had eviscerated him.

The second bang soon followed, meaning either the man had failed to hit, or was just making sure he had done the job properly, or... Opening her eyes again, Andrea saw Meera stand over the two bodies, a smoking gun in her hands. Had she killed them both? Or simply judged and executed the offender? It would be foolish to wish for justice in the world right now, there probably weren't any judges left anyway, but to be executed on the spot...

There barely was any time to even comprehend what was happening, before a van, of all things, bore straight through the flimsy sheet metal. It all seemed to happen from a distance, like it was some corny B movie. The car crash, the horrible name... Did he really say his name was Prophet? And of course the oncoming horde of them. Andrea watched with perplexity how Bryan - was that his name? - pull out an eggtimer and uselessly throw the device away from the van. As if a tiny alarm like that could drone out the shouts of everybody, or the gunfire, or even the running engine. If this was a movie, this would be the part where Andrea would start to question the sanity of the people acting in it, because a stunt like that would never work in real life.

Thankfully the haze quickly lifted, and Andrea hoisted the backpack holding her guitar over her shoulder and stumbled towards the van. She'd die before she'd leave this thing behind. It was handcrafted by her grandfather, and her father even took it with him during his tour in the Vietnam war. He often commented how it was the only thing keeping him from losing his marbles. Maybe it would do the same for her?

Zombies swarmed the gates with renewed zeal, bashing it mindlessly with the horrible moan accompanying the sound of metal banging against metal. The van was still running, pistols drained of ammo and no backup, Prophet kicked the nearest zombie and entered the driver side door. The other 4 had made it in by killing enough creatures to make a mad sprint for the open canvas at the back of the truck, a few other survivors had need been so fortunate. The screams of the dead echoed the screams of the living now.

There was no time to mourn or offer sympathies to anyone who might have lost a fond memory to the sea of living dead just now, instead it was a frantic prayer to who knows what and the beeping of a large truck backing up. Every soft thud was another soul extinguished by Prophet and his truck. Once outside of the hangar it became very clear just how much this group had missed. Just how lucky they were to have found shelter.

How completely fucked up everything else was.

Zombies swarmed the hangar now, top and sides, and a few of the creatures shambling towards them were carrying something.. Axes. three of them were walking with large woodcutting axes clenched in the decayed flesh of their hands, a fire was sprouting from down the runway where the zombies had evidently breached a different little fortress. Likely with the axes.Prophet was weeping even as he put the truck off reverse. "I could only save one.." He whined sadly, turning the drive away from that direction in all haste to wherever he had come. Captain Meera was huddled at the back of the truck closest to prophet trying to keep herself together. The realization that these things were something similar to being 'organized' was one thing, but the realization that if prophet had not come.. those axes would have.

The drive was long and quiet on Meera's part, the others in the back (s'you fine people.) might have been talking but she didn't reply. Stuck in the stasis of pure shock and a sudden inability to have an opinion or plan. It all fell to 'prophet' now.]

"My friends.. If I may call you that," Not bothering to glance back but instead lean out the window for a short moment squinting, he spoke loud enough to be heard in the back of the large military van. "I wish I could tell you my name but I do not know it. I suffered a severe head injury on the day, I believe, that you all got holed up in that accursed hangar. When I awoke, I had been rescued and was recovering well. It was not until this morning that I remembered about survivors I'd seen holed up at the runway."

The truck turned down a bumpy dirt road, leading to a farm. In the distance no more than an hours drive was what appeared to a small town. The smoke of fires still wafted from it.

"This farm has been lucky, a great deal of the creatures do not find their way to the small and low populated areas of the world I believe. Few have ventured here. I will leave you here with the caretakers, they will meet you once all of you have settled in. I know of other survivors, I think.. My memory was lost but I still remember seeing pockets of survivors.." A hand rubbed his head gently, as if trying to focus it. "I hope to meet you again soon."

The insides of the house did not reflect the outside. It was warm and cozy, though it did not have food inside apparently.There was 3 bedrooms, 2 on the top floor and one on the bottom, a large brick fireplace with a burning fire, a kitchen, 2 bathrooms upstairs, a large living room looking towards the fireplace, and a small woodshed attached to the side of the house.

The most stunning part of the house was the fence. It was a massive diamond shaped chain wall, attached to thick iron poles set in the middle of a giant patch of cement, that looped all around the large fence. The gate slammed shut as Prophets van drove off.

Meera shivered in the doorway, muttering to herself "He did say to get comfortable.." And sat down near the fireplace.

So thing's didn't go as planned... What else was new? The timer only drew away the three freaks that were closest to it. In all honesty, that was the most he could have hoped for. He was desperate, willing to try anything to take some of the heat off. It didn't matter. He rushed for the truck, only to have one of those freaks come at him with an axe. Since when could those things hold a weapon? It swung with an overhead strike, only for Bryan to overpower it. He knocked the thing to the ground, grabbing the axe at the same time and bringing the blade straight down into it's skull. That thing wasn't getting back up. "Let's go!" He ripped the axe from the corpse's skull, and jumped into the truck along with the others.

This "Prophet" claimed that he had only just started recovering from amnesia... How does that excuse destroying the fucking walls? Bryan decided to ignore it, for now. He ejected his Beretta clip to check his ammo. Nothing left in the clip, but still one in the chamber. He put his empty clip in his backpack, and pulled out a fresh one, slamming it into the mag well. In total, sixteen rounds. He couldn't afford to waste them.

They stopped outside of an old farm. Bryan, for once, felt a little comfortable. He stayed on a farm like this with his uncle during his summers, so being here felt natural. The forest near the house was a concern though, since they wouldn't see any freaks walking through until the last second. They all walked into the house, and Bryan sat on the couch to gather his thoughts. He looked at the Sergeant, and he could tell this was getting to her. Still, he didn't say anything, and instead walked to the kitchen. He opened the fridge, but there wasn't even a scrap to see in there.

"Shit, there's no food." Looking out the window, he thought about doing some hunting. Unless the folks owning this place showed up soon, they'd have to find food somewhere. He walked back into the living room to check with the others. "Does anyone here know how to cook meat? There's nothing in the kitchen, so we may need to do some hunting." Bryan looked to the Sergeant, "What's the call, Sarge? Hunt for food, or wait for the owners to show up?"